


The Night is Still Young (And So Are We)

by cylobaby27



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorder, Gen, Negative Thoughts, canon is clay i smash and use for my own purposes, cw: ed, fatphobia, over-exercising, restriction, she works through it but please don't read if this is a trigger for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 17:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15890625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: Stephanie Brown has a supervillain for a dad, a superhero as an ex, student loans to pay, and her own mask to wear.She also has an eating disorder.





	The Night is Still Young (And So Are We)

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags! More notes at the end.

“Oh please, don’t take credit for Cass’s badassery,” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes and aiming an elbow at Tim’s ribs. Because it was Tim, and he was used to her, he dodged before she’d even started the motion. “That was all my main girl.”

“I got them in position for her to take them down,” Tim insisted. They were walking as a group from the Cave into the main house, high off a successful mission. It was barely nine o’clock, and they’d managed to take down Two-Face’s latest scheme without a drop of blood spilled. They’d been tracking down the warehouse all day, so Bruce gave them the rest of the night off for a job well done. Red Hood had agreed to do a larger sweep of the city to cover in case anything came up, but criminals tended to lie low after a big sting.  

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “You only distracted them because you tripped.”

“That was a tactical maneuver,” Tim argued, brushing a wet strand of hair off his face. They’d all showered and changed back into civilian downstairs to follow Alfred’s ‘no uniforms aboveground’ rule. “Cass’s takedown was genius, though. Steph, I also saw you grab that guy before he could pull the grenade pin. Good work—that would have turned this night sour.”

“Well, since it wasn’t sour, why don’t we make it sweet?” Dick said, bringing up the back of the group. Damian sighed audibly. “For once we’re done early enough that we don’t have to crash afterward. Let’s go to that new ice cream place that just opened on Park.”

“God, yes,” Tim said.

“Please,” Cass agreed.

“That would be amendable,” Damian said, though there was an extra bounce in his step.

Stephanie stalled, letting the group move on without her. “I—Sorry, fellas, I have to work on that essay. Can’t waste this gift of a free night! I should head home.”

“It’s Friday—you have all weekend to finish it,” Tim pointed out. “You’ll still be back with plenty of time.”

“Nah,” she said, waving a hand and hoping she sounded normal. “You know that if I procrastinate I’ll just forget and end up staying up until dawn on Sunday night. Better to do it while I’m thinking about it!”

Cass frowned at her, hesitating, her dark eyes assessing Stephanie’s posture.

Dick just gave her a casual salute, walking backwards. “I’ll have another cone in your honor!”

Tim said something quietly to Cass, and she finally broke her gaze and shuffled along with the rest of them.

“Bye, guys,” she said, waving as the rambunctious group left the manor.

When the door closed, she let her smile fall like one of the Joker’s anvils. It had been heavy to hold in place, but felt like it clanged around her heart as it dropped. It was better this way. This was fine.

She was fine.

 

#

 

It had all started when she was on the cusp of her fourteenth birthday, and her father was arrested for the second time.

Cluemaster. What a dumb fucking name.

Suddenly, her life, which had never been full of white picket fences, felt shaky and unreliable. Her dad was a supervillain. It had been bad enough when she had been eight and he had gone to prison for the first time, but that had been before Batman, before the masks had taken over Gotham.

While he was in prison, Stephanie found herself obsessing about what he was doing, what he was thinking, and what he was planning for when he got out.

At that time, she also found herself obsessing over her meals.

When there were so many big questions lurking at the back of her mind—Would he remain Cluemaster even though he’d been caught? Would she have the courage to help stop him, or would she sit back and watch him destroy her city?—it was easier to focus on the things in front of her.

Then, she didn’t think of it as a problem. Restricted portions became skipped meals, and it all came with an unexpected high. She was in control. It was a game that took up her thoughts in school and at home. How many calories had she eaten so far? Were her muscles shaky yet? How long could she go before caving and eating her next meal?

Exercise was another version of the same impulse. Her mother couldn’t afford a gym membership, but there was a track behind the school she could use. She liked to push herself and feel her muscles burning.

If she ran fast enough, if she controlled her every movement and instinct, she could manage anything.

Her mother didn’t notice.

Stephanie would have been more surprised if she had.

It was the exercise that put her in the position to become The Spoiler when her father was released from prison. She could run faster and farther than anyone in her school, and the roofs of Gotham added a layer of both fun and danger.

She was as hard and lean as a fifteen year old could get.

When she met Robin, the quiet, clever boy with dark black hair, she could keep up with him. It felt like the hyperfocus she’d maintained for the last year had finally paid off.

It had all been worth it for this.

 

#

 

When Robin finally took off his mask and introduced himself as Tim Drake, something inside Stephanie’s chest loosened.  

She had a team. She could afford to have some fun. If and when her father got back out of prison, they’d be there to stop him. Her impulse to restrict still lingered—after all, she needed to keep up her teammates—but it wasn’t as overwhelming as before.

She made waffles for Tim one morning and grinned at him around a mouthful.

“Good, right?”

He sighed and took his own smaller bite. “You need to let me buy you some real maple syrup.”

“Don’t be a snob. Aunt Jemima knows what she’s about,” Stephanie told him, and pushed the bottle across the table.

“You know how much sugar is in this?” he asked.

“I don’t care,” she said, and in that moment, it was true.

That night, alone in her apartment, she skipped dinner.

 

#

 

Stephanie had never been a bookish girl.

She’d loved stretching her legs on the track, listening to bubblegum pop and feeling her muscles work. Sitting down for long hours to stare at white pages seemed like a waste of time. School was a necessity, but she knew she’d never be a bookworm for the fun of it.

Then she’d gotten pregnant, and had gone that night to the local used bookstore to buy everything she could find on pregnancy.

The clerk behind the till had scanned all the books, and then glanced down at her stomach. She was only five or six weeks pregnant at the most—there was no way she was showing. Still, she took the books from him and held the bag with both hands over her stomach as she made her way home.

When she told Tim what was happening, he dropped everything to be with her, though she knew he was disappointed that they had never slept together. He was a good guy. He was cleaning her kitchen while she read a chapter on nutrition in _Healthy Mom, Healthy Baby._

She read the caloric suggestions, and then read them again.

Was that how much normal people were supposed to be eating, or was it all pregnancy related? Before she’d figured out she was pregnant, she’d been feeling off, and had restricted her food intake to try to fight against the vague sense of unease.

_Maternal malnutrition increases the risk of gestational anemia, hypertension, miscarriages and fetal deaths during pregnancy, pre-term delivery and maternal mortality._

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, trying to do the mental math. Was she malnourished? She didn’t eat that much, and she worked out all the time, but that didn’t mean she was… _sick_ , did it? She definitely hadn’t eaten nearly as many calories as the book suggested since she’d been thirteen and carefree.

Was she malnourished? Was her constant fight for control going to hurt her baby?

The impulse to eat less had always seemed benign. She’d never passed out or anything. She just tested herself sometimes. Sometimes it felt like if she didn’t control that, she couldn’t control anything.

She remembered, suddenly, something her father had said once. It had been a rare lucid moment after his third arrest—the one she’d facilitated. He had confessed that leaving clues behind was an impulse he couldn’t control. If he didn’t leave the clues, he would lose the only tie to stability he had. To him, submitting to those strange impulses had been the lesser of two evils.

At the time, she had been baffled. How could such an illogical compulsion make itself seem logical? But hadn’t she done the same thing? The games she’d set up to test how long she could go without eating, the extra miles she’d run even though she was already sweating and exhausted—how were those so different?

“Tim,” she said, huddled on the couch with a pillow in her lap. “I think I’m just like my dad.”

“No, no way,” he said, climbing onto the cushion beside her and putting an arm around her shoulders. “You’re be a great mom, if you keep them. And if you decide to put them up for adoption, that will make you a great mom, too. You’re going to do what’s best for both of you, right? That’s all you can do.”

“Right,” she repeated. “Right! I can do this. Right?”

“You can,” he insisted. “I’ve always believed in you.”

Stephanie tore out the pages in the book about the suggested nutrition plan for each trimester and pasted them to her fridge. It felt like too much food, especially compared to where she’d started, but she forced herself to eat every bite.

As her belly grew, so did her boobs. By her eighth month, she was…softer. Her body didn’t feel like it was hers anymore.

When it was born, after hours of pain and fear, she had just enough time to feel relieved that she was safe and healthy before it was time for Stephanie to hand her over to her new parents.

 

#

 

This time around, Stephanie was more self-aware. Seeing the difference in what she’d once eaten compared to the diet she’d forced herself to keep during her pregnancy had made a small alarm in the back of her head ring. Skipping so many meals wasn’t _normal_. She had somehow become one of those girls people whispered about at school, the ones who had undressed lettuce for lunch and pretended to be full.

Stephanie had never thought of herself as a person with a _problem_. Yeah, her dad was a supervillain and she fought crime with Batman and Robin at night, but that was all situational. _Stephanie_ was just a girl with the discipline to help save the world.

But she realized that maybe her discipline was doing more than that.

For the first few days after she gave birth, she tried to stick to a more standard meal plan. Breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner.

Then, she cut the snacks.

Then, breakfast.

She had gotten so used to being the sleek fighting machine she’d become as Batgirl that seeing her softer form in the mirror was a shock every day. Her muscles were weaker, and her reflexes slower.

She’d given up her baby for two reasons: she knew she was too young to be a good mom, and she hadn’t wanted a baby to mess up the life she’d been building for herself. But if she couldn’t get back into fighting shape, the second point would happen anyway.

It was harder this time. Her body had gone through extreme changes, and her metabolism had adjusted to make room for her pregnancy diet and the baby inside her. Tightening every muscle back into her previous shape took longer hours on the track and in the gym below Wayne Manor, and food became the enemy.

She thought it was working, until she nearly passed out on patrol.

Batman was bounding ahead of her. Stephanie was always surprised by how fast he was, considering he was built like a human tank.

Stephanie was hot on his heels, but her muscles shook with small tremors. She’d skipped dinner. And breakfast. She’d known tonight would be a busy night on the streets of Gotham, and she hadn’t wanted anything weighing her down.

That had been a mistake.

As she hit the next rooftop, she stumbled. Her legs simply wouldn’t hold her up any longer. She let herself crash to her knees, barely catching herself on her hands so her face wouldn’t hit the gravel roof. Her vision swam, and black static threatened at the corners of her eyes.

She took a deep breath. For a moment, the dizziness intensified, but it finally receded. She took another shaky breath and tried to force her body back under her control. It felt like a kite on a long string in a storm, along out of her reach entirely.

Funny. Wasn’t control what skipping the meals had been about in the first place?

“Batgirl, where are you?” Batman’s voice growled through the comms.

“On my way,” she said, getting unsteadily to her feet. There were scraps on her fingertips where her gloves didn’t cover her skin.  

“Where are you?”

“I thought I saw a cute puppy,” she deadpanned. “I’ll be right there.”

Batman didn’t answer.

 

#

 

After that, she became more careful.

It was still a struggle. Somedays, she still ate too little. Other days, she ate too much and reflexively overcompensated. It was a constant balance of being hungry enough to feel sharp, and being too hungry to focus.

Since she kept herself stable enough to do her job, though, no one noticed.

Usually.

“Why don’t you ever come to dinner?” Tim asked. They were on patrol together—Red Robin and Batgirl. They had been officially over for months, and had been tentatively rebuilding a friendship.

The makeshift family of Bruce’s wards had expanded since they’d first met, with Stephanie always lingering on the outside. They were all interesting, in their own ways. Tim was still the only one she was close with, and that had taken a sharp decline after they’d broken up. Without him to bind her to the group, and with her Robin uniform ripped away as quickly as she’d gotten it, it was easy to keep her distance from the chaotic group.

The ones who lived at the Manor—Dick, Tim, and the new girl, Cass—had dinner with Bruce at least one night a week, at Alfred’s insistence.

“I thought you hated family night,” Stephanie pointed out.

“I mean, for the first month or two, yeah,” Tim admitted. “It’s nice, though. A way to keep up with everyone in the family even though we’re all doing different things. You should come. You know you love Alfred’s cooking.”

Stephanie laughed. “I’m not part of your family, Tim. Thank God, too, or our thing would have been super weird.”

“I mean, it’s not like _any_ of us are actually related…”

“Look,” Stephanie said, grateful for the distraction. She pointed across the street toward the building they had been staking out. “He’s out. Let’s go.”

Tim tried to bring it up again a few more times, but Stephanie knew him well enough to deflect him without raising his suspicions.  

 

#

 

To her surprise, the new girl, Cass, quickly became her new best friend.

Tim would always have a special place in her heart, but there was baggage between them. When Stephanie realized that her general quietness was a symptom of her upbringing rather than the snobbishness Stephanie had predicted, she had made it a mission to befriend the new girl.

She knew what it was like, after all, to be the only girl on a team of hypermasculine guys.

Under her stoicism, Cass was secretly sly. Though she still thought that most television shows spoke too quickly, she let Stephanie drag her into watching The Bachelor every week. They sat on the couch in Stephanie’s flat, with Stephanie leaning against Cass’s shoulder while she shouted at the contestants. Cass made quiet comments and hums to express her opinions, which were usually delightfully scathing.

When Cass’s stomach had growled, Stephanie gave Cass the takeout menu from a local Chinese restaurant. With the helpful pictures, Cass let her know what to order.

Grilled chicken and vegetables for Stephanie.

Beef fried rice, kung pao chicken, and an order of spring rolls for Cass.

Once she had paid the delivery man and made it back to the couch, she passed the stack of containers to Cass, who accepted them with a smile in her eyes. In comparison, her single container seemed…pitiful.

She shook her head and winked at Cass. “I swear, being with the Waynes is bad for you. You eat like a teenage boy.”

Cass raised an eyebrow and grabbed her own boobs over her shirt.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed those,” Stephanie said with a casual wink. Stephanie wasn’t at either end of the Kinsey scale, but Cass seemed to be off of it entirely, so she knew her casual flirting wouldn’t be taken seriously.

Cass didn’t smile. “Girl,” she said, pointing to herself. “Girl,” she continued, pointing to Stephanie. Then, she looked at the single container of food in Stephanie’s hand and raised an eyebrow.

Stephanie flushed and tried not to lose her composure. Shit. Maybe Stephanie was the one who had been spending too much time with men—when had she decided to use her gender as her reason not to eat?

With deliberate movements, Cass opened the packet of spring rolls and held one out to Stephanie.

“I…don’t like spring rolls,” Stephanie said. Her smile felt stiff and heavy. She couldn’t eat that. Cass was lithe and had been trained into lethal shape from a young age. Stephanie still had the specter for her pregnancy body lurking over her shoulder. They were _different_.

Cass frowned, her expression torn between hurt and concern, though no one but Stephanie would likely have been able to recognize the significance in her lines around her eyes.

“Thanks for the offer, though!” Stephanie said cheerfully. She turned back to the television and leaned against the back of the couch. “Oh man, look at Christine trying to stir up drama. I don’t know why Joe hasn’t sent her home yet.”

Cass was silent for a long moment before finally saying, “Ratings.”

Stephanie reached over and nudged her arm playfully. “Come on, don’t ruin the TV magic! Shut up and eat your food.”

Cass didn’t bring it up again, but Stephanie made sure not to stir her suspicion again. The boys underestimated Cass sometimes, but she noticed everything. There was no reason for Stephanie to let her get worried over nothing.

 

#

 

Training with Damian was always an exercise in control.

Namely, controlling her gut reaction to swat him across his pretentious little noggin.

Somehow, though they were both just scheduled to do a circuit of the Cave’s workout equipment, Stephanie had let Damian goad her into a pushup contest on the mats in the center. (Black, of course. Bruce custom-ordered everything in the gym to fit his #aesthetic.)

“Come on, Brown. Surely you can do better than that,” Damian sneered. Despite his size, he was mechanically churning out picture-perfect push-ups, like a piston in an engine.

“Fuck you,” she said with a grin, watching sweat drip from her nose and hit the mat underneath her. “This isn’t a speed contest. Besides, you’re like ten. You have less to push up.”

“I’ve noticed,” Damian said dismissively.

Stephanie gritted her teeth and kept pressing.

Damn it. If she’d had a better lunch before training she would be wiping the mat with the little punk, but she’d been anxious about the open case down at the docks she was working on, and had managed to drink more than half her smoothie. Now, she was slightly jittery and weak from the hunger. Her muscles felt taxed, like she’d been working out since dawn instead of just the last hour.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not getting weary?” Damian asked after another few seconds. With Dick at his side, he’d learned to better balance teasing and just actually being an asshole, but Stephanie still had trouble distinguishing the two.

“I’m fine,” Stephanie said.

And then her exhausted muscles gave out, and she landed flat on her nose.

Damian cackled and did two more pushups before sitting back. Stephanie pushed herself into a sitting position, rubbing her sore nose. She’d been lucky she’d fallen at a low point in the pushup, or she might have busted it.

“A valiant effort,” Damian said in his most condescending voice.

“I slipped,” Stephanie said dismissively. “Let’s do squats next. My glutes can kick yours into next week.”

“That’s an alarming image,” Damian said, but stood up for the second contest.

 

#

 

Stephanie was just about to head back to the Cave after a long night when a broad shadow dropped into step beside her. She turned, already reaching for her batons, but dropped her hands when she recognized the bright red helmet.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” Jason commented, gruff voice amplified by the tech in his helmet.

“I was chasing a bad guy,” she said. “Don’t worry—I caught him, tagged him, and left him for the cops. I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You’re supposed to let me know before you swing through,” he pointed out.

“It wasn’t really my priority,” she said. It had been a long chase after an even longer investigation, and he’d nearly gotten the drop on her when she’d arrived at his final hiding spot. She’d taken a blow to the ribs, but she’d handled it. She glanced over at him. “We only used to do that because we thought you’d shoot us.”

“I still could,” he said defensively.

She snorted. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t.”

“I thought you hated me?”

“Why, because I tried to kick your ass when I heard what you did to Tim? Can you blame me? But I tend to be quick to anger, quick to…tolerate. Tim seems over it, and Bruce wouldn’t let you wander around if you were planning to bust a cap in one of us. So I at least trust you not to murder me and dump me in the river.”

“You’re a weird one,” Jason said. “Wanna grab a hot dog? There’s a good place on this block, if we go down to street-level.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t expecting a rooftop dog vendor,” she said, hesitating. Hot dogs weren’t exactly good for the form, but this was the first time she’d had anything but open hostility with Jason. If she smacked aside this olive branch, she probably wouldn’t get another one. It’d be nice to not have to look over her shoulder for him when she ended up in this neighborhood.

They climbed down a fire escape, and Jason ordered two chili cheese dogs from a woman who beamed when she saw him. She layered on extra toppings, gushing in Spanish about what a good man Jason was. She accepted the cash he handed her with rolled eyes, making Stephanie think they’d discussed the money at length before. She wasn’t surprised Jason had won—he was stubborn _and_ clever.

Though they’d just climbed down, they had to climb back up to actually eat. When Jason took off his smooth helmet, it was only to reveal a domino covering his face underneath.

“You’re really paranoid, aren’t you?” she asked, laughing.

“The one thing I learned from the big guy,” Jason shrugged, taking a bite of his hot dog.

They continued walking toward the border of his patrol area, and Stephanie found herself rambling to distract him from the fact that she’d eaten half the hot dog and had the rest dangling uneaten in her hand.

She couldn’t just eat something so terrible, not even for the sake of bonding with Jason. She wasn’t built like a brick shithouse like he was. One chili dog _mattered_ in her life.

She noticed him notice, and immediately launched into another spiel about Damian, gesturing with both hands like she’d forgotten about the food entirely.

He was hilarious, when he could get a word in. Of all of Bruce’s trainees, he had the most similar to her sense of humor. It was a shame he’d spent so much time trying to kill them—they could have been good friends.

At the edge of his territory, the south side of Canton Street, they both stopped.

“Thanks for walking me out. Hey, look, I still have some dog left! An extra treat,” she said, and gave him a big wave with her free hand.

“Stay safe,” he said, giving her a casual salute.

She waited until she was well out of sight before dropping the rest of the hot dog into a trash bin.

 

#

 

Years of careful balance and negotiation came toppling down in one night.

It wasn’t until after that Stephanie realized how precarious it had always been. She was working with a team of trained detectives, some of the smarted people in Gotham, if not the entire world. Her bright smiles and casual assurances about how much she loved waffles would never be enough to hide the truth from them.

She was sparring with Dick in the Cave while Bruce worked on the computer across the room.

He was in fine form today, sprinkling jokes and stupid puns in between his flips and kicks. Last night’s ice cream adventure must have gone well. He seemed well-rested and energized. They would still go on patrol tonight, but the celebratory mood couldn’t be dampened.

Stephanie was…distracted. It was close to one in the afternoon. Usually, she got up at noon and then drove to the Manor for this weekly training session. (The car was a gift from Bruce after finally getting tired of her complaints about Gotham’s public transportation.) After skipping the rest of the team’s outing last night, though, Stephanie had been swamped by loneliness and had made the mature decision to sleep until the problem went away. That meant she had woken up at nine, practically dawn by her standards. Stephanie had decided to skip breakfast and save lunch for after their sparring match.

She _would_ eat. Later. It had just been too much to manage in addition to her emotions. The team was trying to include her. Why hadn’t she just said yes? But with that question came a second, sharper one: was she really willing to eat something that would set back her training just so she could spend time with her team?

Dick kicked and then used his momentum to spin in the air, aiming his other foot at her chest. On a normal day, Stephanie would have dodged it, but she was on the verge of unsteadiness from hunger, and distracted on top of it. Dick’s foot collided solidly and she flew back onto the mat.

She caught herself—barely. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself back onto her feet without letting herself catch her breath. “You fight like a rotisserie chicken,” she told him, panting.

“That shouldn’t have connected,” Bruce said, striding over to the mat. Of course he had been watching them, though he’d been on the computer. Stephanie was never sure when he was faking his attention elsewhere so he could watch someone without their knowledge, and when his skill at multitasking truly did practically give him omniscience. “And when it did, you should have rolled. You need to drill that.”

“I got distracted,” Stephanie snapped, though she knew it was the worst thing she could have said.

“Training is muscle memory. If you let yourself be distracted here…”

“Your body won’t know to act differently when it’s real. Yeah, I’ve heard the speech before,” Stephanie said.

“You’re all getting complacent because you’ve had successes,” Bruce said, folding his arms. “You should both run some drills.”

“B, I was doing great!” Dick protested.

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Stephanie said.

He stuck out his tongue like he was nine instead of twenty-nine.

“Both of you. Drill some rolls. Fifty on your own, fifty throwing each other,” Bruce instructed, already moving back to his computer. Stephanie and Dick gave each other shit-eating grins at that last instruction, since nothing settled bickering better than bodily throwing your sibl—teammate. “Do it until you would do it in your sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Stephanie said, shaking her head and bouncing on the soles of her feet. She could push through today’s weakness. This was what they trained for.

Side by side, Stephanie and Dick ran through the drills at a rigorous pace. Stephanie’s head swam, but she ignored it. She knew how to do this. She’d pushed her body to its limit before, and this wasn’t even a life-or-death situation.

Everything she’d done since she was thirteen had been to prove to herself that she could control her body. Today was no difference.

Except.

Except when Dick threw her the fifth time, her mind just…blanked.

She landed hard, halfway through a twist. Dick had really given her some air, and she landed on her arm at an awkward angle. She stayed still for a moment, desperately trying to claw her brain and body back under her control. With a groan, she rolled so she was on her back and staring at the stalactites hanging from the cave ceiling overhead. “Shit.”

“Are you okay?” Dick asked, sliding to her side on his knees. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, I’m just—” She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but the arm she’d landed on felt sprained, and her head swam with the movement. She nearly fell back, but Dick caught her by the shoulders and helped her up.

Bruce was there, as fast and silent as ever. “Are you sick?” he demanded.

“What?” Stephanie asked. When she blinked, it felt like her lashes were stuck in molasses.

“Are you sick?” he repeated. “You’re off your game. You’re distracted. Your reaction time is shot. You know you’re not supposed to train when you’re ill. You’ll just make yourself worse. You know the rules.”

“I know the rules,” Stephanie said. “I’m not sick.”

“Did you get hurt last night? Is that why you didn’t come to get ice cream?” Dick asked. “I thought you were acting off. You know that’s Damian’s game. You have to tell someone when you’re hurt.”

“I’m not hurt,” Stephanie insisted. With the two of them looming beside her, she felt as trapped as she would have been between two walls.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Dick asked.

“Look, I’m just distracted today, okay? I don’t need the Inquisition,” Stephanie said, trying to push herself to her feet.

Bruce stopped her with a hand on her calf, quickly and effectively preventing her from standing. “When’s the last time you ate?” he repeated.

A fucking bloodhound.

She laughed. “Don’t be stupid. You know _that’s_ not a problem for me.”

But the cogs in Bruce Wayne’s head were already moving. “Do I?”

“Steph, just answer the question,” Dick said, looking uncertainly between them.

“Fine,” she said, pushing her hands through her hair and nearly dislodging her ponytail. “Dinner last night. Okay? I always eat before patrol.”

“You haven’t eaten since _before_ we made the bust last night?” Dick asked.

“Stephanie, you know the rules. No training at anything less than your best. That means not coming down here on an empty stomach. This is why Alfred keeps snacks ready in the kitchen.”

She huffed. “Look, it’s not usually this—” She cut herself off, but it was too late.

“This is a common occurrence,” Bruce said, not bothering to make it a question. “How often are you skipping meals?”

After all the years where Stephanie had secretly craved it, _now_ he decides to pay attention to her?

“I don’t count,” she said. When he gave her the same unimpressed look he gave at particularly stupid minions, she said, “Okay. Maybe one a day? But only because society tells us we even need to have three meals a day. Who came up with that rule? Who’s to say how much I should be eating?”

He nodded. From the intensity in his expression, he wasn’t thrown off the scent by her rambling. “And do you purge?”

“You mean throwing up? Geez, Bruce, I’m not bulimic.”

He gave her a flat look. “The distinction is splitting hairs.”

“I mean, I’ve never been _hospitalized_. It’s not that big a deal. I’m not that bad.”

“You have an eating disorder. I’m trying to diagnose it so I can understand you better,” Bruce said.

“I have eating _issues_ ,” Stephanie admitted. “That doesn’t make it a disorder.”

“Once it interferes with the work, it’s a disorder. Is today the first time that’s happened?”

Stephanie hesitated.

Bruce was extremely skilled at reading silences. Maybe because he was so inept at conversation. “It has. You didn’t think then that you might need help? You could have put innocent people at risk.”

“I’m just trying to keep up with everyone,” Stephanie said. “I lost my form after I got pregnant.”

“That was years ago.”

“Well, when a woman has a child, sometimes it leaves lasting changes on her body,” Stephanie said slowly.

“You’ve been doing this for so long?”

“And you never noticed before. Clearly it wasn’t that big of an issue. Look, I’m just trying to make myself strong. My weakness,” she spat, voice climbing, “is the reason you were always to reluctant to let me on the team. You should be glad I have some discipline.”

“No, I hesitated to let you on the team because you’re reckless and you make decisions that are risky for everyone around you, including yourself. Current situation included,” Bruce said. He lost the compassionate edge to his voice, finally remembering he was talking to Stephanie, not some victim.

“I’m trying to be _healthy_. For the team, for you. You think most people can eat like Cass and still have a body that looks like hers?”

“So healthy you pass out doing normal drills?” Bruce demanded. “Who told you that healthy meant _looking_ a certain way? Who told you that _strength_ meant looking a certain way? You can’t blame Cass for this. She wasn’t here when this started. And you know her body type isn’t the only one that is useful in the field. Look at the rest of your team.”

“Yeah, all the various flavors of men,” Stephanie snapped. “I don’t need a body image talk from you, Bruce.”

“Apparently you do. Look at Diana. She and Cass couldn’t be built more differently. Neither of them is worse for it. Healthy isn’t a shape. It’s being steady and solid when people need you.”

“I…” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I was just trying be in control.”

“Do you feel in control today?”

She shook her head. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Am I off the team?”

Bruce sighed. “Do you think you’re the first Robin who has pushed too hard? That you’re the only one who went over the line so they did more harm than good? Six months after he started as Robin—before he learned how to cover his tracks online—I found Tim researching steroids. At one point or another, I’ve come back from patrol and found every person in this house training before dawn on no sleep. Too much of anything is dangerous, whether it’s cutting calories or running on that treadmill until your knees give out. Trust me. I wasn’t immune to it when I started out. My training, like Damian’s, didn’t care if I was pushed past my limit. If I broke, that meant I wasn’t cut out for it. I don’t want any of you to break. I don’t want any of you to hurt yourselves thinking it’s what I want.”

Stephanie wanted to tell Bruce that not everything was about him. But when she opened her mouth, a sob escaped. Then, she was bawling, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Dick put a hand on her back, rubbing in small circles between her shoulders. Bruce, that fucking disaster with his unexpectedly amazing speeches, just put a heavy hand on her knee.

They didn’t flinch or leave, even though she could hear the painful edge to her own sobbing. She had expected them to leave.

Instead, they sat with her on the mat in the middle of the Cave until she was finally able to get her breath back enough to say. “I’ve been trying my best,” she told them, suddenly desperate for them to know that.

“I know,” Bruce said. “You always do.”

That kicked off another round of crying.

When it settled, she was finally able to sit up straight and scrub her face. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bruce said. “I’m only angry that it took us so long to have this conversation. Clearly, I wasn’t paying enough attention. I’ll be watching more closely now.”

Stephanie winced. That…probably wasn’t a good thing.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Bruce continued. “You’re putting yourself and everyone around you at risk.”

“But you’re not kicking me off the team?” she confirmed.

“Nothing you do will make me kick you off the team,” Bruce told her.

“Even though I cried all over you?” she asked.

“Even then.”

Stephanie took a deep, shaky breath. Dick’s hand on her back, still in place, moved in another comforting circle. Bruce really had mellowed out in the last few years. She thought that between Jason and Damian’s long history of murder, he’d learned to forgive a lot. She’d just never expected to be included under that umbrella.

“I am putting you on Cass’s nutritional plan from when she first came to us. She was malnourished, so we kept a regiment of optimized meals. Alfred will still have the recipes on hand,” Bruce continued, before the sentimentality could linger.

“Bruce, I don’t live here,” she reminded him.

The look he gave her reminded her that despite his reassurances, he was still the hardass she knew and loved. “You’ll be coming here for meals,” he told her.

“What? That’s insane,” Stephanie said. “I only come here to spar because gyms are expensive. I can’t come out for every meal.”

“She’s right,” Dick said. Stephanie was about to thank him when he continued, “Alfred can pack her meals for a few days at a time, and I can go hang out her apartment during meals.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she growled.

“No,” Dick said, infinite compassion in his voice. “It sounds like you need some good food and a friend.”

“Dick…”

“C’mon, Steph. You said this has been going on for years. You think you’ll eat whatever Alfred packs you when you’re home alone just because we had this one conversation?”

“You shouldn’t come all the way into Gotham for this.”

“Let me decide that, okay? Hey, Bruce, can I talk to her alone for a bit?”

Bruce nodded and stood up after giving her knee one more squeeze. “I’ll go talk to Alfred.”

“You’re not going to tell him, though, right?” Stephanie asked.

Bruce just gave her a flat look.

“Fuck,” she muttered as he walked away.

“Alfred won’t judge you,” Dick pointed out. “It’s Alfred. He’s seen all of us in rough patches.”

“Still,” she said. “I don’t like people talking about me.”

“We just want to help you,” he reminded her. “Look, I know we’re not qualified for this. We’ve all had our own struggles, but not the same one you’re going through. Have been going through. You’ve never let us know it was even happening before, so I’m not going to assume that you’re going to want us to barge in and take over your life now.”

“Exactly,” Stephanie said. “I can handle—”

He interrupted her. “You’re not doing this alone,” he corrected. “But I know someone who might be able to help better than us. We’re still here for you. I wasn’t lying about coming over for meals for a while. But maybe this person can help you better.”

Stephanie hesitated, patting absently at her tear-swollen cheeks. “Your vagueness is worrying me, she said finally.

 

#

 

This was a bad idea.

She knew it was. She’d known as soon as Dick had told her what he was thinking. But her fridge was full of Tupperware containers from Alfred, Dick was showing up on her doorstep at least twice a day, Bruce had started looming up out of nowhere before every night’s patrol to glare at her until he was sure she was steady…and despite all that, it was still a constant struggle to make herself eat the food Bruce and Alfred had deemed appropriate.

It was just so much food, and she’d been carefully cutting down for so long.

So, though she had more reservations than the hottest restaurant downtown, she showed up at the address Dick had given her at the scheduled time. It was a small building on the east end of town, and she had to press the buzzer twice for it to work.

She hopped the stairs two at a time to the third floor, where she found an office door with the handwritten sign Dick had told her to look for. _Dr. Q_.

After taking a deep breath, she knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, revealing Harley Quinzel. Stephanie hadn’t run into her often since she’d retired the crime business for a life with Poison Ivy, though she knew the ex-criminal and Dick had formed an unlikely friendship.

“Stephanie!” Harley greeted, beaming. Her hair was in a pair of French braids, a subdued version of her old look. Instead of the white doctor jacket Stephanie had somehow expected, she was wearing a soft-looking sweater and jeans. “You’re so cute under your mask.”

Stephanie glanced around the hall, making sure no one was nearby.

“Come in, come in,” Harley said.

Stephanie wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Something more…professional, for sure. Inside was what looked like a studio apartment. There was a small kitchen by the door, and then a living room area with a couch and two chairs.

“This is…cozy,” Stephanie said, letting Harley usher her inside and close the door.

“It’s small, but I’m just getting started. But I’m not a legal practitioner, so it’s not really going to get better,” Harley said, following her in. “Grab a seat. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Stephanie sat on the edge of the couch, calculating how much damage she’d take if she just continued right on through the window. They were only three stories up, and it might be preferable to this. “You’re not even legal?”

“I used to be a supervillain,” Harley said, with the kind of embarrassment other people had about getting a speeding ticket. “They wouldn’t renew my license.”

“Why did Dick send me to you?” Stephanie asked, talking to herself more than Harley.

Harley shrugged and sat down across from her. “You really think you can be honest with a civvie? Even if they’re a doctor? How much of your shit is wrapped up in the cape?”

“Are you allowed to say ‘shit?’”

Harley’s laugh wasn’t the manic cackle it used to be, but it was still unrestrained. “It’s not like anyone can stop me! And I know you don’t have an issue with language because you once called me a ‘tie-dye bitch.’” She folded her hands over her knee and continued in an unexpectedly more serious voice, “So, tell me why Dick put us together.”

“I… I’m not sure about this,” Stephanie said.

“Look, I’m not licensed, but I was trained for this,” Harley said. “I took a villainous hiatus, but I know how to help people, and I’ve read up so I’m as up-to-date on treatment options as possible. I’m sure you’re going through a rough patch, but you’re not an Arkham patient, sweetie. I can help you. And if I can’t, you still get to vent for an hour and then I’ll work with you to find someone who _can_ help.” When Stephanie hesitated, Harley added, “Look, you might not trust me yet, and I can’t blame you. But you trust Dick, or you wouldn’t be here at all.”

“What if he’s just overreacting?” Stephanie asked quietly. “Maybe what I’m doing isn’t that bad at all.”

“Maybe. But normally people who ask that question are the ones who really do need help,” Harley said. “Tell me about it and we’ll decide together. Start at the beginning.”

“Well,” Stephanie said, twisting her fingers into the hem of her shirt, “you probably don’t know this, but my dad is Cluemaster…”

By the time their hour was over, Stephanie had made her way through half of the tissues Harley had left sitting on the table between them. Harley had grabbed one for herself when Stephanie had talked about the adoption, unashamedly dabbing at her own eyes.

Despite Stephanie’s earlier conviction that Harley was going to tell her to stop overreacting and get back to business, Stephanie left with a pile of pamphlets and worksheets, all hand-drawn in crayon by Harley. She hadn’t expected homework from therapy, but Harley had insisted that it was the best way to keep their work progressing. It was a strange combination of silly and terrifying to stare down at a page labeled ‘But what’s REALLY making me sad?’ with a cartoon frowny face on it, and know that Stephanie would have to sit in her apartment and come up with answers.

At the end of the session, Harley broke protocol and swept Stephanie into a hug.

Stephanie, to her surprise, found herself hugging Harley back.

 

#

 

Two months later, Stephanie accepted one of the regular invitations for Sunday dinner at Wayne Manor. Over the years, she had backflipped and maneuvered like Dick Grayson to avoid them as often as she could.

Cass sat on one side, and Dick on the other. The table was filled with Bruce’s wards, along with the man himself. As she had expected, it was barely controlled chaos. Damian and Tim bickered throughout the salad course, and Bruce caught Cass trying to feed a piece of broccoli to Titus, who was lurking tellingly between her and Damian. Alfred had greeted Stephanie warmly, and then had swept away to manage the entire affair.

Despite how many months of this Stephanie had missed, there was never a beat where she felt unwelcome. To everyone else, her presence was…normal. Expected.

To her, this felt like a milestone.

When she’d tried to articulate it to Harley, the unofficial therapist had just nodded. “It’s just Sunday dinner to them, but you’ve built it up as something bigger in your mind. You won’t be able to conquer it if you keep avoiding it and letting it build to the size of a monster. You should go. Consider that your homework this week.”

It had taken Stephanie an extra week, but she was there. She could do this. This was her team, her almost-family. Only Jason was missing, though she’d heard he’d shown up unexpectedly a month or so back.

Since she’d started seeing Harley—and having her meals managed by Bruce’s concerned and overbearing gaze—Stephanie had slowly, inch by inch, started to find some normalcy in eating. Instead of skipping meals every time she felt the raspy edge of anxiety scraping her skin, she found other outlets.

It wasn’t easy. She’d been restricting for too long, and it had become more normal for her to push herself to her limits. But she had her teammates and Harley to help remind her what she was fighting for. She wanted to protect them, protect herself, and to do that, she needed to be strong.

That didn’t make sitting at the dinner table when Alfred brought out the main course—roasted lamb and potatoes—any easier.

As everyone else piled the entrée onto their plates, still laughing and bickering, Stephanie stared at the dish like it was her own father, back for vengeance. When she finally moved a sliver of lamb to her own plate, it felt like deadlifting twice her weight.

Would this ever be easy? Would this ever feel natural?

A firm knee pressed against hers. Stephanie looked up and found Dick sitting beside her, watching her with a kind smile. When he had her attention, he grabbed another piece of lamb and a chunk of potato from the platter and added it to her plate.

He gave her a quick wink and pressed his knee against hers again.

She took a deep breath, gave him the realest smile she could muster, and then picked up her fork.

Maybe it wouldn’t be easy, but Stephanie had never picked the easy path.

And this time, she wasn’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Eating disorders are a bitch, but it's never too late to get help. They come in as many shades as there are humans, and don't always fit perfectly into a PSA's descriptions. If you're struggling, talk to your friends, a therapist, or call the National Eating Disorder Helpline at 1-800-931-2237.
> 
> This 'verse is shared with my [Doc Harley](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556820/chapters/31108785) fic. If you liked this, you should check that out as well! 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://starknjarvis27.tumblr.com/)!


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